


Poor Atlas

by lookninjas



Series: Children's Work [24]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 16:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: In the grand scheme of things, rescuing eight kittens from a dumpster should not be that stressful.  It is anyway.  Poe tries to make it slightly easier.





	Poor Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this is how my brain works: I get a prompt asking for information about BB-8. I decide the solution is kittens. Kittens, right? Light and fun and fluffy. Kittens. Instead, I write Ben having a minor Messiah-complex related breakdown. I don't even know sometimes.
> 
> Since I couldn't manage to stealth the infodump in: Ben's restaurant, in this, is one of those Pay-What-You-Can places, where you can eat for free or you can drop enough dough to subsidize five other people. It seems like something he'd do. ETA: I was asked to write EVERYTHING about the restaurant, so [here is that post](http://lookninjas.tumblr.com/post/172017175711/for-into-the-weeds-bens-restaurant-in-that) for anyone else who wants to know.

Sometime after Ben presses a kiss to his cheek and slips out of bed, sometime after he drifts off again to the sound of the coffee maker gurgling in the kitchen, Poe is jarred out of comfortable dreams by the ringing of his phone. He fumbles for it, squints at the screen: _Ben_.

His stomach lurches. Pictures grainy images of kids in hoodies, fumbling for stones in the street, static on a security camera. They didn’t even do that much, just a few choice words scribbled in Sharpie on the cafe’s glass storefront, a sloppy swastika. Still, things start small. Poe knows that in his blood. Things start small, but they don’t always end there.

He keeps his voice even anyway. “Babe? Everything all right?”

Ben’s reply is a surprisingly, miraculously annoyed, “Yeah…” drawn out long and sighing. “No, it’s not -- It isn’t _serious_ , just… Fucking… 

“So apparently no one locked the dumpster last night, ice or something, or maybe they just forgot, but Cesar went out this morning and there were fucking kittens in there. Like someone just threw them out, like this huge -- A _lot_ of kittens, and I don’t know if they were in a bag and chewed their way free or they got dropped in one by one, or in a box, or -- I don’t know, but they were loose in there, sort of stumbling around so we had to fucking empty the whole thing to make sure we got them all, in the middle of a snowstorm, and we got them and they’re inside and I’m pretty sure they’re fine, but --” 

Another sigh, a few moments of silence (Ben probably breathing, gathering himself, calming himself down). Poe waits, lets his own breath settle. This is fine. This he can deal with.

“Anyway, my clothes are soaked and covered in garbage and obviously we’ve got shirts here so that’s not a huge deal, but if you could bring me some pants that would be great, because I really can’t be in the kitchen without them. And Margo’s coming in later so I can get the cats to a vet, but… I mean, we open now. Pretty much. And we’re already behind, and I’m pretty sure we’re gonna be slammed because of the weather, and -- Just -- 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you were about to get up and start getting ready for work and… Just I’m the tallest person here, so I can’t really borrow from anyone, so.”

“It’s fine.” Poe slips out from underneath the blankets, pads over to the window. Snow falling thick and fast under the streetlights; it’s a good thing the cafe’s close. All the all-wheel drive in the world can’t make up for the fact that Poe’s not the greatest winter driver. But for his husband, he will do what he has to. “It’s fine. Is there anything else you need -- food, litter, blankets, any kind of -- Because I can pick it up, or I guess drop off your pants and then...”

“No, it’s -- It’s fine.” Softer, now. A little easier. “We gave them some chicken -- it’s not ideal, but it’s safe enough anyway. Made a couple little nests out of boxes and towels. Ana actually had some cat litter in her car for, like, traction. If she goes in the ditch or whatever. We’re okay. Not that anywhere’s open right now anyway; it’s like --” 

Pause. Breathing. “Sorry. I just need pants, mostly. And probably a hug. I’m not -- This isn’t how I wanted to start the day.”

It hits Poe, probably a little later than it should, that Ben is panicking. Overloaded, at least. Overwhelmed. It almost doesn’t make sense, with everything else he’s been dealing with since the restaurant opened, since everything leading up to it, but. Straws and camels. 

“Pants I can do,” he says, and keeps his tone easy. “Hugs I can definitely do.” He’s already planning on doing more, of course -- he doesn’t let the weather keep him out of the office that often, but his client load has lightened significantly since the holidays and, honestly, Eloise is giving him that look again anyway, the one that says he should probably slow down, so. This seems as good a day as any to slow down. But Ben doesn’t need to know that now. He’d only work himself up more about it. “Just give me a couple to get myself together, and I’ll be right there. Promise.”

“Thank you.” Relief, now, if only a little; Poe feels his own shoulders relaxing at the sound of it. “Thank you. I really love you. You know that, right?”

“Well, I really love you.” And even though Ben can’t see it, Poe still feels himself grinning stupidly at the phone. Best words ever invented. “Get some coffee, cover yourself in kittens until you feel better. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, they’re filthy so I -- I don’t know; I’m sure there’s something we can -- Sorry.” Strained laughter. “Sorry, I’m done, I’m done, I promise. I’ll see you soon. Thank you. Bye.” One last sigh, and he’s hanging up.

Poe stares at the phone for a second, then tosses it at the bed and pads across the room to turn the lights on. Clothes for him, pants for Ben, boots, coat, car -- Easy. Easy. 

The rest he will take as it comes, just like always. 

 

*

 

The door to Ben’s office is closed, which might well be a first. At least it’s usually open when Ben’s in it, which is more than he’d like to be -- he’d rather be expediting, or manning the grill, or even on the floor bussing tables. But he can do more, overall, from the office, so that’s where he spends the majority of his time. Door open, in case he’s needed elsewhere. In case he can get out of the office for an hour or so and do something he likes more. 

But. Kittens. Who are not allowed in the kitchen for an hour, or even a minute. 

Hopefully they’re at least keeping Ben entertained. 

Poe lets his hand rest on the knob for a second, then decides to err on the side of caution and knocks instead. “Hey, it’s me,” he calls. “Everyone contained in there?”

“Yeah, give me --” Ben’s voice trails off for a second, words Poe can’t quite catch. “One second -- Shit, hang on, he’s --” More incoherent muttering, and then, “Okay. Okay, we’re good. Make it quick, though.”

Poe opens the door as little as possible, slips inside as quickly as possible, gets the door shut as soon as possible, and just in time. A soaked, soapy, unamused kitten slips free of Ben’s grip and scampers towards Poe, squeaking indignantly. It’s still squeaking as it scales Poe’s jeans, needle-sharp claws pricking Poe’s skin through the heavy fabric. It grips the hem of Poe’s flannel (Ben’s flannel -- Poe likes the way they feel on him, and he knows damn well Ben likes the way they look on him, and… well, by any means necessary), squeaks again, and Poe chuckles. “Sorry, buddy,” he says, and reaches down to grip it by the scruff. It doesn’t let go of Poe’s shirt, pulling it up as it’s lifted, staring at Poe with mournful, betrayed eyes. He transfers it, carefully, to his chest, letting it cling there as he supports with one hand on its back. “Be reasonable, man,” he adds, grinning at Ben, who is looking almost as mournful as the kitten. “I mean, you can’t go around smelling like a dumpster all day. Can you? It’s no good, man. It’s no good. You gotta get clean. Right?”

He drops Ben’s pants on his desk (obviously there’s no point in him putting them on now), and crouches down next to him on the floor, carefully peeling the kitten from his shirt and passing it back into Ben’s gentle hands. It lets out one last, extremely pitiful, “Mew!” before being returned to the soapy water. 

Ben rubs its head gently with a damp cloth. “I think the water’s getting cold,” he says, softly. “It was warm when I started, but --” He inclines his head in the direction of a cardboard box; Poe cranes to see inside it. Five kittens, all bundled up in kitchen towels like little burritos. “That was a while ago.”

“You want me to get you more?” Poe asks, studying the setup. There’s three pickle buckets ranged along the wall, and then two small plastic tubs directly in front of Ben -- one soapy, one clear. The box on Ben’s left houses clean kittens, so the one to his right must be… Yep. Two more kittens, a little worse for wear, although they’re studiously trying to lick the garbage off each other. “It’s no problem.”

“It’s fine. I’m almost done.” He transfers the kitten he’s working on now into the clear water for rinsing. It doesn’t squeak this time, resigned to its fate. “You should probably get back home. Get ready for work.”

His head stays bowed, and it’s not because he’s busy with his task. 

As much as Poe loves Ben, and he loves him with all his heart, the man can be such a little _shit_ sometimes. 

“Babe,” Poe says, pointedly spreading his arms so Ben can take in the whole ensemble, not that he’s looking.

Then he does look up, all wide mournful eyes even when he’s trying to be stubborn. “ _Poe_ ,” he replies, and manages to hold the eye contact for about five seconds before it’s back down to the kitten again. His hands stay gentle, careful. “Look, I really appreciate that you’re willing to -- But it’s fine. You’ve got -- It’s really not that big a deal. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

Poe studies the top of Ben’s head a moment longer. Then he carefully steps around the plastic tubs of water, squeezes in between Ben and the box of kittens, and settles on the floor. He even grabs a towel from the stack, just in case Ben wasn’t absolutely clear on his intentions. “I love you,” he says. “But honestly? You’re the worst liar I’ve met in my entire life. And you know, I’ve met a lot of liars, so that’s really --” 

“Fuck you,” Ben murmurs, but his heart isn’t in it. He sighs, rubs his thumbs over the kitten’s head, works gently at its ears a bit. “Poe, really. You don’t have to do this. Go on and get to work. I’ll be fine. I just -- I’ll be fine.” 

The funny thing is, Ben’s been so good for so long that Poe had almost forgotten how difficult he could be. Like pulling fucking teeth. But Poe’s a decent dentist (metaphorically speaking), and he doesn’t stop at “difficult.” “I know I don’t have to,” he says. “I want to. Look, work doesn’t need me and you do. For catsitting, if nothing else. But if something else is wrong, and it really sounds like it is, then… It doesn’t have to be now. But I’m always ready to listen. You know that. Always.”

Ben keeps his eyes on the kitten he’s rinsing, doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “It’s nothing,” he says, finally, lifting the kitten and very gently working some of the water out of its fur as it drips into the tub. “It’s… It’s nothing. We got them out, we gave them food, we’re getting them clean, they’ll go to the vet, they’ll be fine, the restaurant’s going to be fine, everything --” He passes the kitten into Poe’s hands, stands up to dump the water out into one of the pickle buckets. “After everything,” he says, staring at the wall. “After everything. This is… Nothing.”

“But it doesn’t feel like it,” Poe suggests, gently ruffling the kitten with the towel. It relaxes into the pressure, purring. Be nice if he could do the same for Ben, but. Patient. Patient.

“No.” Ben stares at the wall a little longer, one plastic tub in each hand, bare-legged under his damp t-shirt, black socks and kitchen clogs still on, big ears poking through his wet hair. Really, Poe’s never loved anyone more than this, and isn’t sure he ever will. “No, it doesn’t.” He shrugs, bends down to dip the tubs into his other two pickle buckets, refilling them. 

Then he turns back to Poe. “Okay,” he says. “You know what I kept thinking, the whole time we were pulling kittens out of the trash? You’re allowed to laugh at this. Just, for the record. But I kept thinking -- God, the fucking _Rolling Stone_ guy would’ve loved this, you know? He would’ve just -- Loved it. The whole thing. ‘Suffer the little kittens to come unto me’ or some… fucking -- His whole Reluctant New Messiah bullshit. Loaves and fucking fishes. First these kittens, tomorrow the world. Something.”

And it’s funny, but it isn’t. It’s funny, and Poe snickered at ‘Suffer the little kittens,’ but also… 

Ben finally offers him a half-hearted smile, crosses back to sit next to him, the tubs hitting the floor in unison, not a drop spilled. “And it’s what I have to do, and if it helps -- if someone reads the article and they come in and they spend a lot of money… Or they don’t spend anything; you know, they just… eat, if that’s… Because that’s the point, and that’s… If it’s what I have to do, then it’s what I have to do, And it’s worth it. Just.” He reaches out, scoops one of the last two kittens from the box. Scratches gently behind its ears, and it arches into the touch. “I mean, I’ve done it before. I’ve been someone’s Messiah. Didn’t end well. Stole a bunch of guns, kidnapped a five year-old, and ran away. I mean, I don’t know where I’d find a five year-old, anymore. No one we know has kids that age. I’d have to break into someone’s house or something. Rob a daycare.”

And it’s funny, but. It isn’t.

“I know,” Ben says, and looks at Poe, his sad dark eyes. “I mean, I do know. That it’s all bullshit. I know that. Except for the part of me that doesn’t. And that’s the problem.” He picks up a towel, dips it in the water, starts scrubbing gently at the kitten in his hands, and it mews, but doesn’t fight. “Because then it’s… How do I really fix things. Not just feeding a couple of people, not just saving a few kittens, but.” He offers Poe another lopsided smile. “And I can’t. You know? I’m not… I’m not actually that person. I don’t want to be that person. But that doesn’t mean that what I am suddenly starts to feel like enough. You know?”

“Kind of,” Poe says. He knows that gap, anyway, between what he can do and what he wishes he could do, who he is and what he would like to be, what he’s won and what he _should_ have won but couldn’t, quite. But he only really knows what it feels like for himself. For Ben, it’s probably a little different. It’s a little different for everyone. 

Ben nods. He gently lowers the kitten into the water, gets another plaintive cry. “Anyway. It gets frustrating, I guess. And I think I just -- I don’t know. Spiraled. And I get it -- people need good things, and I did kind of set myself up for it, and it’s not -- It isn’t _not_ what I want, exactly. Just sometimes it’s too much.”

There isn’t a lot Poe can say about that. There isn’t, really, a good way to help. He leans in, kisses the soft cotton over Ben’s shoulder, and feels Ben slump a little into the touch. “If I can carry any of it,” he says. “Anything at all.”

“You do,” Ben says, soft. “I promise. You do.”

“Okay,” Poe says. “Good.” 

It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s something.

 

*

 

For the first time in months, they order pizza for dinner. After, Ben sprawls out on the floor and lets kittens climb all over him, while Poe lounges on the sofa and watches. One little orange-and-white kitten (he thinks it might be the one that scaled his leg, but hard to say -- there are three with almost exactly the same markings) is curled up against his stomach; he scratches its ears idly. 

It’s a damn good thing the apartment complex allows for pets. They can’t keep all eight, but two seems like a reasonable number. Maybe this orange one, almost certainly the little black one purring away on Ben’s chest. That seems reasonable. Then Finn’s interested in one or two, now that Millie’s gone to live in DC with Hux, and Paige is checking her lease, and Luke’s already said he’ll foster some or all of them until they find forever homes, so…

But two. That seems reasonable.

“Sorry if I freaked you out,” Ben says, from his place on the floor. He wiggles his fingers, and three kittens dive for them, batting and biting at them. “This morning, calling like that. I knew… I know you worry.”

“I do,” Poe says, since there’s no point in denying it. It hasn’t gone further than a few teenage boys with Sharpies, at least not yet, but. The world is darker than it used to be, and Ben is a light, and Poe worries. “But I’m also really glad you called me. I worry less when you call me.”

“Yeah.” He twists his foot back and forth. Another kitten latches on. It looks like it should hurt, but Ben doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, that’s why I did. In the end. Just. I’m sorry this is so hard for you. I wish it didn’t have to be.”

“Well.” Poe takes a chance, lets his hand dangle off the couch. Ben gets it before a kitten does, catches it in his own rough fingers, brings it to his lips. They’ve been married over a year now; they’ve been together a lot longer than that. Sometimes Ben still makes Poe’s heart contract in strange new ways. “I signed up for this too, you know. I knew what we were getting into. Anyway. Hard’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes it’s worth the work.”

Quiet. Poe lets his fingers trace Ben’s face, the odd bones of it. _He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus_. They’d played that in the kitchen one day on repeat, the third or fourth day the guy from _Rolling Stone_ was there. Ben had come home singing. _Watch it now, here he comes_.

Sometimes it’s worth it.

“I hope so,” Ben says, finally. “Guess you don’t really know until the end, though.”

Poe doesn’t correct him; he just hums thoughtfully and keeps grazing Ben’s high cheekbone with his knuckles until he feels him soften, relax. 

“Obviously, we can’t have the kittens in the bedroom with us every night,” Ben says, after a while. “But. Maybe just tonight?”

“Sure,” Poe says, and Ben kisses his hand again. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Cool, thanks.” 

Quiet again. Poe touches Ben’s face, strokes gently through Ben’s hair. Ben’s eyes flutter closed, his body relaxes.

One by one, the kittens crawling over him curl up and fall asleep.


End file.
